


Brushstrokes

by nonky



Category: Being Human (UK), Being Human (US/Canada)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonky/pseuds/nonky
Summary: Spoilers: Up to 2x08 for UK version, 1x13 for US Being Human.Prompted by ilfirin_estel at LJ.





	Brushstrokes

It was wrong and empty, Aidan thought hazily, letting his tongue map a throat that shifted with pleasure underneath his mouth.

It was so perfectly not the point of their support group, Mitchell thought happily. Absolutely the opposite of not biting people and drinking blood, if he was honest.

Honesty wasn't his long suit lately. He'd escaped from England entirely and gone to Boston. It was modern and busy, but also tinged in old ways and square brick buildings. He avoided the local vampires, never took the subway, and hired on with a hospital there.

It wasn't long before his nose caught a werewolf, and the werewolf called him on being a vampire. Josh was nice enough - even if being his friend felt like cheating on George - and introduced him to Aidan.

Aidan was trying to run things; keep everything civilized while holding the younger vamps in enough fear to behave. The blood dens were more like clinics, dispensing blood bags and helpful recipe suggestions. Mitchell liked his near boiling, with a little dash of cream. He hadn't found good tea in the U.S., but it was nice to clink a spoon on the side of a cup and be able to really drink what was in it.

He didn't mix with the support groups, but he and Aidan had a ritual for bad days. They locked up in a dingy little room in the hospital's basement, and took turns tonguing each other at every pulse point.

The blood sometimes ceased to matter when the boredom and deprivation lifted off his shoulders. Aidan's mouth lingered on his throat, wandered off to his shoulder, slicked down in inching kisses to his wrist. They were both covered in hickeys that lingered because of their weak diet.

Flawlessly, as if Mitchell had asked and Aidan agreed, the mouth on his wrist moved over his thigh and brushed along until it was riding the pinging beat on the inside. They rarely bit in, just skimming the surface and bringing blood up like a colour wheel.

It made no sense, was really bloody stupid, but Mitchell liked being Aidan's work of art.


End file.
